


The Tiger

by oneisforsorrow



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Angst, Brief Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts, Fluff, M/M, Tiger!Sebastian, Violence, more things as the story progresses, shapeshifter!sebastian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-14 00:55:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2171796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneisforsorrow/pseuds/oneisforsorrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian is inflicted with a terrible curse that causes him to shapeshift into a tiger. He has always despised himself for it, until he meets Jim Moriarty...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Origins

**Author's Note:**

> I based this off some wonderful gifsets by deducethegay on tumblr:  
> http://deducethegay.tumblr.com/post/95213174084/shapeshifter-moran-au-jim-thought-hed-seen
> 
> I saw them and just had to write a fic.
> 
> So, enjoy!

The change had been occurring for as long as Sebastian could remember. However much he tried, there was no way of controlling it. This is why he spent his adolescent life hidden away on his family’s estate, never once setting foot off the grounds. He’d been happy enough there. He was tutored every day by professors who were legally gagged into secrecy by Sebastian’s parents, teaching him an array of subjects, most of which Sebastian found fascinating. He wasn’t necessarily the brightest child, but he was very eager to learn. The teachers were normally fond of Sebastian, the shy but polite child who just so happened to be afflicted with an unnatural condition, but they stayed wary of him. The change could happen at almost any time, and if it happened, they would be the ones most at risk.

But Sebastian enjoyed his outdoor lessons most; football practise, tennis, running, and his favourite, shooting. His father, who took him out onto their shooting range once a fortnight, always told him he was a ‘natural’. Sebastian was always pleased when he was praised by his father, as it was a rare occurrence. He knew his father was secretly ashamed of him. His parents assumed that he’d never heard their whispered arguments about him, never heard the words ‘freak’ or ‘monster’ used in the same sentence as his name.

While there were good times in his childhood, there were also the dark times. Those dark times happened when his changes occurred.

There was no pattern in the number of changes. It could be as few as once a month, or he  could go through several changes in a day, it was completely random. Perhaps this uncertainty was the worst part of it. Nobody, Sebastian included, could pinpoint the exact times when he would change. When it did happen, however, everybody had to act fast. They knew the signs, the warnings that would lead up to it. He would be escorted to the basement, chained by the neck and locked up left with only a bowl of food and water and nothing else. It was there that he had to go through the change, alone and terrified. The room had been soundproofed so that the rest of the household didn’t have to hear his screams. They upset his mother terribly.

Memories after the change had occurred were usually hazy, a mixture of bright lights and blurred visions. However, Sebastian could always remember the faces that appeared in the small window set in the door, people coming to check up on him, and to let him out and comfort him once he had returned to his normal form. This was always the worst time for everybody. They would find him, curled up on the floor, crying hysterically, drenched in sweat as he shuddered and twitched uncontrollably, his breaths laboured. The comedown from a change left him exhausted and in utter agony. Somebody – a servant or, occasionally, one of his parents – would carry him to his room and deposit him into his bed, strip him free of his clothes and change him into pyjamas, leaving him to rest.

However, as he got older, he was normally left to deal with the aftermath by himself. His parents insisted he could no longer be coddled in such a way, as he would have no chance of surviving the changes once he was an adult. So Sebastian began to spend many more hours down in that basement, miserable and lonely, hating every inch of himself.

When he was eighteen, his father fixed it so that he had a place in the army, without any discussion with Sebastian. He didn’t mind; he’d wanted to be a soldier for many years, and was in fact surprised that his father would trust him enough to become one. However, he soon realised that this was not about trust. He knew his father couldn’t stand to look at him, and was sending him away so that he no longer had to carry the shame of having Sebastian for a son. It hurt, but Sebastian was equally pleased to be away from him. The day he left the estate, for the very first time in his life, was one of mixed emotions. Part of him was full of fear, uncertain of how the world would react to him and how he would react to the world. But another side of him was pumped with excitement, the idea of finally leaving to have great adventures absolutely thrilling to him.

Army life seemed to go very well at first. He made friends, despite being rather secluded to begin with. After all, he had spent his whole life with only servants and his parents, so being around young men of his own age was new to Sebastian. Gradually, he became more accustomed to the way people thought and acted, and he began to mimic them, which, he discovered, was one of the best ways to make them like him.

But the only way he could keep up his good reputation was to hide his secret. Whenever he could feel the change coming on, he would disappear to one of numerous hiding spots that he had located, wherever it was that he was currently based. It was sometimes hard to find places that were out of the way, places that nobody visited. It was difficult, and he had to use all the power of his will to keep his cries of pain stifled, but he managed it. For years, nobody knew a thing. But one day, everything changed.

It was during his twelfth year of service, and he had very recently transferred between bases, along with his best friend, Tony. He was a man very similar to Sebastian, in both appearance and personality. He was the brother that Sebastian had never had, but had always yearned for as a child. Reflecting upon it, Sebastian decided that it was better than Tony was the one to find out first, rather than anybody else.

It was just after their daily training exercises that Sebastian could feel the change beginning. He made his excuses and left swiftly, heading straight for one of his new established hiding places. It was a store room, in which various supplies were kept. Very few people visited there, so it was safe. Or so Sebastian had assumed. He reached the door and expertly picked the lock (a skill he had picked up many years ago when he lived on the estate) and let himself in, slamming the door behind him. He couldn’t lock it, but he pushed a crate up against it, just in case somebody tried to enter. It would be difficult to come up with a reason as to why he had been in there in the first place, but not nearly as difficult as explaining what was happening in that moment. The first wave of agony hit him hard and he fell to his knees, lacing his fingers and holding them behind his head, resting on his elbows. He gritted his teeth as white hot pain surged through him, tensing every muscle in his body. He couldn’t stop a cry from escaping his mouth, which bounced off all the walls, echoing loudly.

Then he heard a knock. Somebody was calling his name. Nobody had ever tried to disturb him before. Never. Another knock. A shout of his name.

“Sebastian? Seb, you in there mate?”

Sebastian’s breathing increased rapidly, only partly due to the change. He was certainly the crate was heavy enough. It had to be.

“Seb? You okay?”

Then the sound that Sebastian had been dreading. Tony was attempting to force open the door. And it was working. The crate was pushed away as the door was gradually opened, his friend obviously putting in every effort to get the door open. Sebastian cried out.

“Stay out of here, Tony. It’s not safe!”

But the door was already open wide enough for his fellow soldier to slip inside. There was a gasp from Tony as he stared down at him, writhing on the cold, concrete floor.

“Sebastian, what’s up?” He asked, expression full of concern.

“Nothing, I’m fine-“

Sebastian was cut off by a shout of agony escaping his lips, scrunching his eyes tight shut as more pain shook his body. He was getting so very close to the actual transformation and he didn’t want Tony there watching.

“Tell me, what’s going on?”

But Sebastian could no longer answer him. He pressed both palms to the floor and tipped his head back as the final stage of the change occurred, the most painful part of all. His yells gradually transformed into growls, skin turning to fur, arms and legs mutating, changing into...

Everything became hazy. Who-? Who was that figure standing there? Sebastian couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew him, recognized him. But the person was yelling. He was a threat. Sebastian got onto his feet, tail lifted into the air, his glowing a harsh, luminous yellow. A snarl rose from the back of his throat, escaping as he widened his jaws to bear his teeth. He pounced forward, claw raised...

Footsteps. More... yelling. A sudden spike of pain. Everything was going... dark... and...

-

Sebastian woke suddenly, momentarily blinded by the bright white interior of the room. He seemed to be in a hospital ward. Why...?

A man in uniform approached him. He recognized him from around the around the base, but didn’t know his name.

“You’re awake, Colonel,” he commented upon entrance, looking Sebastian over with a mixture of both apprehension and pity. Sebastian said nothing in response, just stared back at him with a steely gaze.

“I’m afraid,” the uniformed man began, pressing a sheet of paper into Sebastian’s hands, “That after much deliberation it has been decided that you simply cannot be allowed to continue in service. You will be provided with an appropriate pension, of course, and we have done everything in our power to ensure that information of the incident, and your... infliction does not reach the public ear.”

The way he was spoken to made Sebastian as ashamed as he’d ever been. When, once again he provided no reply, the man simply patted him on the shoulder (very hesitantly), with a uneasy, “I’m very sorry, Moran,” and left the room, leaving Sebastian alone with his letter.

He read it over and over. He’d injured Tony. The first time he’d ever injured somebody before. He hated himself for it.

-

London life suited Sebastian. There were lots of places in which he could hide, the most obvious being his own flat. There, he could transform in peace, playing loud rock music to cover over his screams. He’d had several neighbours come and address him about this, and he promised to keep it down. He didn’t keep these promises, of course, but the only consequence was the glares he received from them as he collected his post from his doorstep in the morning. It was much better for them all to think he was a dickhead with no respect than a monster.

His army pension was enough to keep him in food and clothing, kept a roof over his head, but his life was far from luxurious. That is why he turned to a life of crime.

That is how he met Jim Moriarty.

 


	2. Meeting

“Boss?”

“What is it?”

“He - err, he got away from me, sir.”

“So, you’re telling me you didn’t make the hit?”

“That’s right. I’m really sorry, sir, I just-“

Jim put down the phone, replacing it in his pocket. With a deadly gaze, he slid his finger gently over his throat, a signal to the man standing in the office with him, Jones, one of his most trusted guards, not quite a right-hand man, but certainly somebody Jim trusted to carry out such an order. He understood immediately, giving a small nod and swiftly departed.

Another sniper. All incompetent idiots. Jim was infuriated now and, with one violent swing of his arm, sent half the contents of his desk clattering to the floor with a shriek of fury. _Why were they all incompetent idiots?!_

Once his anger had passed, Jim slowly began to place his possessions back into their correct positions on the desk; his files and documents, paper weights, his calculator and his Newton’s Cradle. He pulled back the end ball and watched as they swung to and fro, the light clinking sound relaxing him. He needed a new sniper now. Harrison had been a mistake now, he realised, and today had been one miss too many. He required somebody with real experience, somebody whom he could trust to get the job done every time without fail.

Jim retrieved his phone and ran through his extensive contacts list, picking out the name and dialling. The other end picked up almost immediately.

“Ah, Mr Moriarty.” The voice was deep and husky, with a slight trace of a German accent.

“Phelps, I need a sniper.”

“And you’re looking to poach one of mine, eh?”

“No. Not from you. But I need names. I’m only looking for the best here.”

“What about Balashov? Or Veselovsky?”

“Both dead, Phelps.”

“Ah, I see.” There was a long pause at Phelps’ end. “Moran?”

“Who?”

“Sebastian Moran. The man has quite the reputation. Served in the army for a good decade or so, supposedly one of the best sharpshooters they’ve ever had. Nobody knows why he was discharged, it’s all very hush-hush, you see.”

“And you say he’s one of the best?”

“Yes.”

“Is he under any employment currently?”

“I don’t believe so. I am under the impression that he normally works... freelance, so to speak.”

Jim sat with the phone pressed to his ear for a number of moments, running over Phelps’ information in his head.

“Thank you for your time. I believe I have all the information I need.”

“My pleasure, Mr Moriarty.”

Sebastian Moran sounded like just the sort of person Jim needed. Though, like any employer, he needed to interview him first...

\--

Sebastian woke to find himself lying on his kitchen floor. The previous night had been a particularly difficult one. As the world came back into focus, he saw new claw marks along the bottom of one of the counters. He’d found an excuse to explain the damage to whoever may enter his flat. Most of the time, that would be the women he’d picked up in bars and never planned to see again after the night was over. He would tell them he had a cat, which was currently staying overnight at the vet. Perhaps some of them eyed the marks with slight suspicion (after all, they were rather _large_ to be from a cat), but mostly they were forgotten, their attention far more focused on having their clothes removed by Sebastian. There had been times when he’d thrown girls out, if he felt the change coming on. It was for their benefit, but of course they didn’t realise this. They simply assumed Sebastian was being an arse when he told them to get out and would leave without another moment of hesitation. The worst time had been when Sebastian was right in the middle of a blowjob and had to demand her to stop halfway through. That had been particularly awkward for the both of them.

He struggled to his feet, only now noticing that he was bleeding. He catch a glimpse of his reflection in the window, noticing a fresh, red cut that ran from his eyebrow, right across his eye and down his cheek. Sebastian had no idea how he’d managed to inflict it, nor how he had managed to save his eye from having any damage done to it. But it was just one of those things he had to put up with. Perhaps his animal form hated itself too.

Sebastian never called it ‘him’ anymore. _He_ wouldn’t have hurt Tony. _He_ wouldn’t destroy his furniture, rip up his possessions. This monster wasn’t him at all.

Unsteadily, he went towards the front door and picked up his post from the doorstep as he did every morning. Bills, flyers for various takeaways and restaurants, a letter from his bank and a red envelope. This one in particular sparked his curiosity and he turned it over to read the handwriting. It was not one he recognized, a fancy, loopy sort in a fine, black ink, slightly smudged around the edges. But perhaps the most interesting thing about it was that there was no address. Just his name. 

__  


He retreated back inside his flat, discarding all other post as he carefully opened up the envelope. Inside was a piece of paper, which had been folded over carefully four times. Sebastian held in his hands for a moment, just looking at it, inspecting it. Slowly, he opened it up, unsure of what to expect. Maybe this was just somebody’s idea of a joke?

__  


It was a trap, it had to be. But there was something inside him that told him it wasn’t. Nevertheless, when finally he’d made up his mind to go, he concealed one of his guns in the waistband of his jeans.

The distance was close enough to walk and he arrived there with two minutes to spare. The warehouse had long since been abandoned, half the windows boarded up, the other half darkened and mostly smashed. Rubble and litter lay everywhere around the site, and Sebastian had to make his way cautiously towards the entrance to the warehouse itself. He kept alert at all times, knowing that this was a common hangout for gangs, drug dealers, and others of that ilk.

Fortunately, he managed not to run into anybody shady, or anybody at all for that matter, until he was inside the warehouse. It was brighter inside than he’d expected, several large holes in the roof letting light pour in. He stood, unsure of what to do.

Then there were footsteps. A man appeared, from another door at the opposite end of the room, dressed in a tight white t-shirt and dark jeans. His black hair was wild, as were his rather startlingly dark eyes, which Sebastian paid particular attention to as the man approached.

“Sebastian Moran?”

He spoke in a thick, cockney accent, and rolled his tongue over his lips as he finished.

“What do you want with me?”

“I am here on behalf of my employer, Moriarty.”

“Moriarty?” Sebastian cut in.

“My employer, as I just said. He wishes to hire you.”

“I don’t want to work for anybody.”

The man laughed; a sing-song laugh that didn’t quite match his accent. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll find Mr Moriarty’s terms to be rather agreeable, Mr Moran. Here.”

A letter was handed to him and Sebastian looked down at him blankly.

“I will give you until tomorrow to respond.”

With that, the man turned on his heel and walked back towards the door from which he came. Sebastian was still looking down at the letter, still trying to wrap his head around the situation. _Who was this mysterious Mr Moriarty?_

“Until we meet again, pretty boy,” came a high-pitched voice from the other end of the warehouse, and Sebastian looked up, surprised to see it come from the same mouth as the man that he had just spoken with. His accent had changed and Sebastian was certain he could see a twinkle of delight in those dark eyes, even from this distance.

Then he was gone. Sebastian felt a surge of pain and knew he’d be spending the night here.


	3. Moriarty

Sebastian received the information for his hits in a number of different ways. There were more red envelopes, with dates, locations, photographs of targets, each addressed just as his very first letter had been, ‘Moran’, in the same loopy handwriting. But, after some time, ‘Moran’ changed to simply ‘Sebastian’. Whoever this Moriarty was, he was gradually becoming more friendly.

Sometimes the details would come in the form of a text from an unknown number, calls with voices he didn’t recognize. Very rarely, his orders would be given to him directly, from another one of Moriarty’s employees, who would meet him without warning when he was out and about in London. But, for months, he saw nothing more of the mysterious man he had met in the warehouse, and Mr Moriarty didn’t make a single appearance.

It was a Saturday morning and Sebastian found himself curled up in a tight ball on ripped bed sheets. He groaned, especially annoyed when he discovered a large slash through the mattress. It was the second time that it had happened in three months and now he would have to go to the effort of replacing it again.

He rolled out of bed, yawning and gently rubbing the back of his neck, his vision slightly blurred. He was particularly tired today and felt like shutting himself off from the world. But still he showered and dressed, making himself coffee before going to look for red envelopes on the door mat. There was one and he picked it up with a soft sigh. It was his job, and it paid well, but there were some days that he simply couldn’t be bothered to put bullets through brains.

He stepped back inside, ripping open the letter and glancing over the words. It was unusual. There was a location (a bar that he vaguely recognized the name of, but had never visited) and a time (eight o’clock _sharp_ ), but no photograph. No target name. At the bottom there was something else, handwritten this time:

_‘Wear something nice’_

-

Sebastian found himself at 7:55pm inside a rather classy looking bar, surrounded by the sort of people that you would expect to see in such an establishment. Men in tuxedoes, woman in evening dresses, all laughing, sipping at expensive cocktails. Sebastian didn’t fit. While his outfit wasn’t as shabby and casual as it normally might be, he still stood out like a sore thumb. His eyes scanned the bar, looking for anybody that may want to meet with him. Then his blue eyes met a pair of familiar brown ones.

Warehouse guy. But now he was dressed in a suit, his hair slicked back, a glass of something pink in front of him. There was one for Sebastian too. He wandered over, sliding into the chair opposite him. 

“Sebastian Moran.”

His cockney accent was gone, replaced by a smooth Irish lilt. It suited him far better.

“Evening,” Sebastian replied, a little gruffly, looking down at the drink in front of him. He cautiously took a sip, but immediately rejected it, setting the glass back onto the table. It wasn’t to his tastes at all, but the man in front of him drank away at his happily.

“Your voice...”

The man smirked.

“You’ve been doing very well, Moran. So I feel I should let you in on my little secret.”

He leaned in forward, so that only Sebastian could hear.

“My name is Jim Moriarty.”

Sebastian blinked, Jim leaning back in his chair, smiling as he took his glass into his hand. For a moment, they were both silent. Then –

“Now I’ve told you my secret, how about you tell me yours?”

How did he – ? He knew how. This Jim Moriarty probably had powers beyond his imaginings, able to find out any detail about any person he wanted. Sebastian was no exception. But, he didn’t know exactly what his secret was, so that was something.

“I really can’t tell you, sir.”

“No medical records from the first eighteen years of your life. No photographs either. No friends. In fact, very few people have claimed to have met you as a child. A mysterious discharge from the army... Now, tell me, Sebastian Moran, _what_ are you hiding, hmm?

“I’m not going to tell you.”

With that, Sebastian stood and turned his back to Jim Moriarty, walking out the bar into the cold night air. He breathed out deeply, then reached into his pocket for a cigarette, lighting it in his cupped hands, taking a long drag.

Somebody tapped him on the shoulder.

He knew leaving had been a mistake. He expected death now, but he was fine with that. He’d wanted his life to end for many years, had felt so hopeless and disgusted with himself that he didn’t see any point in going on. Now Jim Moriarty would have the pleasure of finishing the task Sebastian had always been too cowardly to carry out.

“I will find out your secret,” the voice said quietly.

Sebastian turned, bringing his cigarette away from his mouth, looking into those dancing dark eyes. A smile flashed across Jim’s lips for a moment. Then suddenly they were against Sebastian’s own. Jim held onto the lapels of Sebastian jacket, pulling him closer. But before Sebastian could push him away, or kiss him back, Jim had stepped back, still smirking.

“I will find out your secret,” he repeated, “I promise you.”

Sebastian stood, utterly speechless. Jim Moriarty was already walking away, but turned to look back at him.

“Oh, and you might want to shut that gorgeous mouth of yours. Don’t want to be swallowing flies now, do you?”

Sebastian hadn’t noticed that his mouth had been hanging open, and promptly shut it. Jim laughed, that cold, musical laugh, then looked forward again, hailing a cab and stepping into it. The sniper watched as he drove away, then shoved his hands into his pockets and began his long walk home. No matter how much he tried, the criminal’s kiss wouldn’t leave his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the kudos and comments, I appreciate it a lot. Um, I'm not that pleased with this chapter but it's been difficult finding time to write it but I really wanted to update so... there you have it. Hope you enjoyed it anyway.


	4. Discovery

Two weeks went by. They were rather peaceful ones, with hardly any transformations and plenty of hits, which kept Sebastian occupied. He’d spent a few nights with Lauren, a girl from the flat downstairs. She was a decade too young for him and not particularly interesting, but nice enough.

Sunday morning was warm, with beams of pale light creeping in through the gaps in the curtains, settling across the bed. Sebastian was stretched out like a starfish on the mattress, smiling, quickly glancing over at the clock on his bedside table before shutting his eyes once more. He’d had a great night of sleep, which was rare. He definitely had to make the most of it.

He allowed himself to drift back off again. When his eyes opened, he saw that another hour had gone by. Now he really needed to get up.

Pulling off the covers, he swung his legs out over the side of the bed, getting to his feet and walking straight through to the kitchen, wearing just his boxer shorts. He retrieved a mug from one of the top cupboards, and was about to make his morning coffee when –

“Morning.”

The mug shattered into several pieces as it hit the hard tiles, having slipped from Sebastian’s grasp as he heard the voice. He whipped around, to see Jim sitting on top of one of the counters behind him, dressed in a suit similar to the one he’d worn in the bar, smirking at his reaction. Sebastian hadn’t even noticed him.

“What are you -?”

“I let myself in. You were asleep.”

Sebastian blinked, still taking in the situation. Then, suddenly, he began to become painfully aware of the state of his body, of his flat, both covered in scratches and marks. In that moment, he despised his boss, his home, himself.

Jim stared around the room, looking rather disgusted by it. Sebastian noticed his eyes fix on the large claw marks running across the base of several of the kitchen counters.

“My cat,” Sebastian lied quickly, but, unlike Lauren and all the other girls, Jim wasn’t falling for it.

“What are you hiding, Sebastian Moran?” Jim asked, tilting his head to the side, staring at him with a look of cold curiosity in his eyes.

“I’m not hiding anything.”

It was becoming more difficult to lie to him.

Jim got to his feet, pacing slowly towards him, the gap between them suddenly too small for Sebastian to feel comfortable. Brown eyes looked up into his, searching, analysing, hunting...

Sebastian would never tell him. He might find out, someday, but not from him, not on purpose.

“Tell me,” Jim whispered, centimetres away from his face now, standing on the tips of his toes.

Sebastian shook his head, then shivered as warm lips brushed against his own. Just like he’d done outside the bar, but slower and softer this time. He couldn’t understand it. Jim Moriarty was his boss, was trying to find out his secret, but here they were in his kitchen, kissing as if they were lovers. He was kissing back, he was kissing Jim Moriarty, he was –

He was on the floor. It had happened so fast that he’d had no time to even react. He lay with his chest pressed against the cold kitchen tiles, as Jim got on top of him, legs either side of his waist. Sebastian could easily throw him off. But then there was a knife. Jim dug it into his back, obviously expecting some sort of reaction from him. However, Sebastian had been used to pain his whole life. This was nothing. The blade dragged along through the flesh of his skin, just beside his left shoulder blade. Jim was carving something into him, his initials, he suspected.

“Tell me,” Jim hissed, tone completely changed now, his right hand pulling up Sebastian’s head by his hair, his left still driving the knife through his skin.

“No.” It was difficult to get the word out. He was too focused on suppressing his cries of pain.

Jim drew the knife away, only to dig it in again. “Tell me,” he repeated, louder this time.

“Never.”

“You will tell me, or I’m going to kill you.”

“Do it,” Sebastian spat back at him, his eyes tight shut. He felt something cold against his throat. This was it.

Something stirred inside of him. Pain. Not from the fresh cuts in his back. Another type of pain.

 No. Not now.

“Jim, you have to get out,” he insisted, trying to throw him off his back.

“No.”

“Please, Jim, you don’t understand. You’re in danger.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Please, Jim-“

But he couldn’t finish that sentence. He yelled out as the pain began to overwhelm him. Somehow, he managed to push Jim off, but he stayed near him, bloodied knife in his hand. Sebastian didn’t want him watching. He’d almost killed the last person who had watched.

Jim backed away a little. Sebastian couldn’t tell him to leave now. The words wouldn’t come. He’d have to watch. He’d have to –

Sebastian was gone.

Jim stared down at him, blinking at the sight. He wasn’t sure what to feel in that moment. Shock? Fear?

No. He was just simply amazed.

Sebastian prowled towards him, yellow eyes burning into him. Jim stayed silent. Of all the things he’d been expecting from Sebastian, it certainly wasn’t this. If he _had_ admitted it, Jim would have likely laughed in his face, told him to stop lying to him.

The animal – Sebastian – was close him now. Close enough to kill him. But, after a long, hard look, Sebastian turned, backing away into the corner of the kitchen, lying down on his side. Jim watched him in continued silence. There was sorrow in those yellow eyes. Pain and misery.

It was unbearable.


	5. Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed the rating because this chapter contains sort of some smut (or as close to smut as I dare to go) and there's probably going to be a lot more violence to come, so that's why.

“... Sebastian?”

Sebastian raised his head at the word, eyes blinking open. His name. Who was this person? He knew that voice, he was certain. The face was blurred; all he could make out was the dark head of hair, the black clothes they wore. But... who was it?

There was blood on the floor next to him, in his fur. He couldn’t remember how the cuts in his back had been made, couldn’t remember if he’d hurt himself or not. Had the person hurt him? Were they a threat? It had been hours now.

He got back up again, pacing across the kitchen to sit by his feet. Now he could see brown eyes staring down at him. He heard the word again. His name. Sebastian. But who... who was speaking to him? The voice was soft, quiet, unthreatening.

One more time.

“Sebastian?”

Everything suddenly went dark. He was changing back. Now he was remembering. Jim. This was Jim Moriarty. His boss. He’d made the cuts in his back. He’d pinned him against the kitchen tiles. `He’d kissed him, gently and slowly and...

The world came back into focus. He was lying on the floor, gritting his teeth in agony, beads of sweat hanging off his forehead as he panted. With a lot of effort, he sat up, pushing himself back against one of the kitchen counters, pulling his knees to his chest. Hollow blue eyes looked up into startled brown ones, both of them silent.

“Sebastian... what are you?” Jim asked finally, his voice low and whispery.

Sebastian just held his head in his hands, unable to look at him any longer. This was a mess. Why did everything in his life have to go wrong? He wished in that moment that Jim had slit his throat, that he’d ended it all for him. Life was too painful.

He began to rock back and forth slightly, his head pounding, still dizzy from the transformation. Lights flashed before his eyes and everything seemed to spin. This was a mess, it was a mess...

A hand rested gently on his shoulder.

“I’m not going to tell anybody.”

Jim. But he was so different now. Gone was the person that had opened up his back with a blade, the person who had tried to force him into revealing his secret, the businessman, the ruthless criminal.

This Jim was gentle. Caring. Sitting beside him, comforting him.

It was as if Jim had two sides. Just as Sebastian did.

The man and the monster.

Sebastian leaned against him, still trying to catch his breath.

“Jim, I-”

He tried to speak, but a pale finger was pressed against his lips, hushing him. Jim looked straight at him, his eyes large and luminous, long dark eyelashes fluttering slightly. He was still searching, Sebastian could see it. But he wasn’t sure what there was left to look for. Jim knew his secret, knew everything else about him, just from his files, his records. Maybe Jim wanted to know everything single thing about him.

Maybe this was because they understood each other in a way that nobody else ever had, ever could.

Maybe this is why they were kissing again, lips soft, but urgent against each other. They hardly knew each other; both were untrustworthy of the other, and everything about it seemed wrong.

But it was _right_.

Maybe that is how Sebastian found himself, an hour later, with Jim Moriarty hot and panting beneath him, coming with a howl of his name.

_“Oh fucking Christ... Jim!”_

Maybe this is why they lay together naked in Sebastian’s bed, Jim’s head resting on his chest, gently brushing his fingers across the fresh purple marks that ran up and down the sniper’s neck.

“I don’t understand-”

“Ssh, darling. You don’t need to understand.”

“But, Jim-”

“I said _hush_.”

Jim silenced him again with a press of their mouths, Sebastian feeling the flicker of a tongue against his own, but only for a moment.

“You’re going to live with me now, understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good boy,” Jim murmured, dipping his head down once again to slowly press kisses along Sebastian’s neck.

He’d changed again. Now he was halfway between man and his monster, not quite the person who had held the blade against Sebastian’s throat, but not the tender, loving one who had comforted him after his change.

Who was Jim Moriarty really?

Crazed psychopath? Gentle lover?

Jim was too many things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this was quite short and probably pretty bad since I wrote most of it in the middle of the night. But I hope you liked it anyway!


	6. Force

Sebastian had packed up his few possessions – just three cardboard boxes of stuff in total – and Jim arranged for his flat to be sold, and then suddenly they were living together. 

Their relationship was a difficult one to understand. What had happened on the day Jim broke in didn’t seem to change anything. No, they definitely weren’t lovers. Or friends, for that matter. They were employer and employee, and Jim seemed insistent on keeping it that way. It wasn’t as if Sebastian minded. He was allowed to go out, was allowed to have women stay the night, but not always. If Jim didn’t want him leaving the flat then he didn’t leave. If he was naked in bed with a girl, Jim could come in and tell her to leave. Sebastian hated it when he did that. But it wasn’t as if there was anything he could do about it. 

Jim’s mood could switch suddenly, and without any warning. That made it hard for Sebastian to keep up with him sometimes. Violent, unresponsive, overly flirty, dangerously quiet, Jim could go from one to another in seconds. He might decide to lie across Sebastian lap, eyes shut, relaxed and content, humming happily, before retrieving his knife from his pocket and beginning to carve into Sebastian’s thigh. He was fond of doing that, especially since he learnt that once the cuts had scarred over, they appeared as new stripes across Sebastian’s animal form. Sebastian was rather less fond of this habit. 

Sebastian’s changes were much easier to understand, to keep track of. In fact, they gradually became easier. He didn’t know precisely why that was, but he assumed it must have been something to do with Jim. His presence, the way he treated him in his animal form. The changes were less painful, and now he slipped between forms almost effortlessly. He still had no control over it, but it wasn’t really a problem anymore. Jim treated it as a gift, strength, rather than a weakness. And, of course, Jim wanted to use this strength, enhance it.

“Come on, Sebastian. Just concentrate...”

“Jim, I can’t do it! I’ve never been able to control it!”

“That’s because you’re not focused.”

“You don’t understand, I can’t-“

“You can’t prevent the change from happening. You’re not trying to prevent it; you’re trying to force it. So, just clear your head and force it.” 

Sebastian was on all fours on the kitchen floor, Jim standing over him. They had been attempting this for hours already, and he was certain it was well past midnight now. Why couldn’t he just give up? 

He shut his eyes tight, the muscles in his face twitching slightly as he tried to clear his mind, tried to force the change. But it wasn’t working. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t do it. Why didn’t Jim understand that?

Jim placed both hands on his shoulders. “Sebastian, relax. You’re tense; the tension isn’t going to help you clear your mind.”

Cold hands ran over Sebastian’s face, smoothing over the tight lines on his forehead, between his eyes. He opened his eyes, but Jim place a finger over his lips before he could even open his mouth. He did that a lot.

“Don’t say anything. Just relax, then force it.”

So Sebastian closed his eyes again, inhaled deeply and focused on the image. The tiger. He parted his lips slightly as he lowered his head, focusing, focusing, focusing...

... Somebody was stroking the top of his silky head. It felt nice. He knew that person. That was Jim. He nuzzled against him, feeling safe around him. Toppling him out of his kneeling position, Sebastian pushed Jim down onto the floor on his back, pressing both paws to his chest, his warm, rough tongue licking his face.

“Sebastian!” Jim exclaimed in disgust, wiping his face with the sleeve of his suit. “Bad, tiger!”

Sebastian drew back, hanging his head in shame at the scolding. Jim sighed, sitting up and propping himself up on his elbows. 

“I’m sorry. C’mere.” 

Sebastian approached again, slowly, and Jim wrapped his arms around the tiger’s neck, fingers running gently through the soft fur. Then the tiger was on his feet again, tail swishing high in the air as he prowled through the flat, towards...

“Oh no you don’t!”

But Sebastian was faster than him. By the time Jim had gotten through the door to his bedroom, Sebastian was already on top of the silky bed sheets, testing the softness of the mattress with his paw. 

“You’re not sleeping in here,” Jim insisted, but Sebastian had rolled onto his back, looking up at him with expectant, happy eyes. Jim rolled his own. “Fine. But just tonight, you understand? This isn’t going to be a thing, got it?”

He stripped down to just his underwear and curled himself up in the small space beside Sebastian, who lay right in the centre. Jim gave him a hard push and he obediently rolled over, giving him more room. 

“Goodnight, tiger,” Jim whispered into to the darkness, hearing a soft growl in response. 

\--

When he awoke, the room was dimly lit by the morning sunlight, and he wasn’t lying beside a tiger anymore. Sebastian had become entangled in the sheets as he’d slept and was now resting peacefully with his blonde head against the pillow. Jim watched him, gazing at his face, at his closed eyes, with his light lashes just brushing against his skin, at the scar that ran over his eye, at the faint stubble on his jaw. 

He wouldn’t admit to himself that he thought Sebastian looked beautiful like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a little while since I last posted! I've been super stressed about going back to school and really didn't feel like writing for a few days. I hope you don't mind, or the fact that this chapter was pretty fluffy. I hope you liked it anyway!


	7. Execution

“Now, Mr Silver, are my terms agreeable to you?”

“Fuck off, _Moriarty_ ,” the man spat back, struggling against the ropes that bound him to the chair, hands held behind his back. “I won’t give you want you want.”

“Tut, tut, Mr Silver. Not very nice, are you? Well then, I shall have no regrets about terminating you.”

Sebastian stepped forward, pressing the cold barrel of his gun to the side of the man’s head. Silver glared at Jim, unflinching. He flashed a sick, twisted smile, displaying his yellowing teeth and bright red gums that dripped with blood now. “Do it. Finish it. Go on. Give the word.”

But Jim simply tipped his head back and laughed. “Oh no, no, no, Mr Silver. Do you really think I would let you die so easily?” he said, shaking his head. He stepped forward to prise the gun out of Sebastian’s hand. They shared a look. Silver stared.

“What are you going to do me now?” he asked, addressing Jim, a note of fear noticeable in his voice now.

“Oh, I’m not going to do anything to you, Mr Silver.” He turned to his sniper, smiling sweetly. “Sebastian, be a dear and finish him off for me.”

It wasn’t a request. It was an order. Sebastian let his eyes fluttered close, taking a deep breath, focusing, completely still now. He could hear Silver laugh.

“What is this bullshit?”

Sebastian didn’t let himself be distracted. He had to keep focusing on the image. Focusing, focusing...

“What the -?”

The animal was upon him before he could even stutter out another word. Sebastian needn’t wait for Jim to give the order; he already knew what his master desired. He swiped his paw across Silver’s face, a sharp cry of agony ripping through the room as claws sank into his flesh. The man was trembling now, begging for mercy. But Jim didn’t tell him to stop. He just watched. Expressionless.

Hot blood covered his paws now, the man’s face horribly disfigured, slow whimpers escaping from his lips.

Sebastian heard his master click his fingers. The order to end him.

“Goodbye, Mr Silver.”

The man attempted one final desperate cry, before sharp claws slashed through his throat, leaving him lifeless on the ground, his ropes that tied him to the chair having been cut.

His master stepped forward to stroke the top of his head.

“Good boy...”

 

There was a body in front of him, his boss’ hand in his hair, and everything was covered in blood, including him. He turned his hands over. They were a dark red, shaking just slightly. He’d done this. He’d followed Jim’s orders. Killed a man. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t done it before. Many people had had their lives ended by his hand, his gun. But seeing the man ripped to shreds, almost unrecognizable now, patches of skin hanging off his body, blood still pouring from the open wounds... it was different. Not the same as putting a bullet through somebody’s brain.

“Very excellent work, Sebastian. I think you deserve a little reward, don’t you?” Jim said from behind him, pulling up him by the collar so that they were face to face. His boss was several inches shorter than himself, but he may as well have been taller. He was just as intimidating as a man twice his wrong. Suddenly, he was up on the tips of his toes, forcefully pressing their lips together in a hard, bruising kiss, biting down on Sebastian’s bottom lip, drawing blood. As if there wasn’t enough of the stuff in the room already. But Sebastian wasn’t complaining. He just went along with it when Jim was in one of these moods. They weren’t particularly common, after all.

Jim allowed himself to be pushed back against the wall by Sebastian, let him run his bloody hands all over his suit. It wasn’t a particular favourite of his, so he allowed it. But when Sebastian began to get a little too eager, he pushed him back with two palms to the chest.

“Sebastian, my dear, take me home and you can fuck me however you like. But you are not having me against the goddamn wall.”

Sebastian nodded and stepped back.

“So obedient,” Jim chuckled softly, raising a hand to run across Sebastian’s jawline, the stubble prickly and slightly wet beneath his fingertips. Sebastian scowled at him, which only made Jim’s smile widen. “Honey, don’t try and deny it. You just love receiving orders...”

He was back against the wall before he could even finish his sentence, with Sebastian hissing, “Shut the fuck up,” into his ear, before hot lips were against his own once more. He parted his lips to allow Sebastian’s tongue work into his mouth, hips grinding together which drew a moan from them both.

“Sebastian...”

“I told you to shut up.”

_Hmm_ , he rather liked this, Jim decided. Allowing Sebastian to lead for once. And perhaps he wasn’t so averse to shagging in an abandoned office block with a corpse beside them after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100 kudos?? Honestly, I'm utterly speechless! Sorry this hasn't been updated in a while, I haven't been very motivated to write recently, a lot of writer's block. But, seriously, you can't know how much I appreciate everybody who comments and leaves kudos, thank you so much!
> 
> (Sorry this was pretty short, and a bit... I don't know, I'm not sure how much I like it, but there you have it)


	8. Bored

“Sebastian?”

He looked up from his book – 1984, George Orwell – at the sound of the lilting voice that came from the other sofa. Jim was on his back, his legs stretched out over the arm of the sofa, one arm hanging limply by his side, the other hand tapping out a rhythm against his stomach. Sebastian knew what mood he was in. He was bored. That normally meant destroying something, be it a plate or a fucking government building, or coming up with ways to annoy ‘his tiger’, a nickname that he frequently used now, much to Sebastian’s chagrin.

“Hmm?”

“You know if you had kids-”

“Which I won’t.”

“I know, but if you did-”

“I don’t like where this is going...”

“Would they be like-”

“Don’t say it...”

“Little tiger cubs? Like kittens?”

“I hate you.”

“What a shock it would be for your poor wife.”

“Never going to have a wife. Or kids. Now, shut up.”

Sebastian switched his attention back to his book, trying his hardest to ignore his boss, who was now on his feet and crossing the room towards him. He lay down on the other end of Sebastian’s sofa, resting his head on the sniper’s lap.

“Sebby...” Jim said in a voice full of forced sweetness and innocence.

“What?”

“You know if you were in your tiger form...”

“Yeah?”

“And there was another tiger, a female...”

“Can you just shut up?”

“Could you have sex with it?”

“Jim, I swear-”

“It’s a serious question! Could you, if you wanted to?”

“Maybe. I have no fucking idea, Jim, would you just leave me alone?”

“Noooooooo. Unless you find another way to entertain me...”

Sebastian sighed, folding the corner of his current page and set his book down on the coffee table. He wasn’t particularly in the right frame of mind for one of Jim’s playful moods.

“How, exactly?”

“Hmm...” Jim pondered, tapping his fingers against his chin, “Well... you could suck me off.”

“No way.”

“Come on, Sebby, don’t be booooooooring.”

“I said no.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Pretty please?”

“You’re such a child.”

“Pretty please with a cherry on top?”

“You’re unbelievable.”

Sebastian got up from the sofa and tried to move off, but Jim caught him around the wrist. He looked down and Jim’s eyes were large and shining, slowly fluttering those dark, feminine lashes. Fuck him with his puppy eyes, Sebastian thought as he got down on his knees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a bit of fluff/crack because I'm planning some angsty chapters soon. You've been warned.


	9. Fall

Jim was working late, as he so often did. Sitting in the gloom of his office, the glowing screen of his laptop the only light source, stacks of papers and files scattered around him. He didn’t speak, barely moved, just worked continuously. It wasn’t unusual for him to do this, and when he did, Sebastian would normally just go to bed and leave him to it. Jim would always crawl in next to him at some point during the night, and Sebastian would wrap his arms around his middle to hold him close. It wasn’t cuddling. Jim hated the word. They were merely sharing body heat and Sebastian was protecting him from anybody who may try to enter the flat. Like a human shield. A human shield who would press soft, lazy kisses along his neck and stroke his hair while he was asleep. Or, while Sebastian _assumed_ he was asleep.

But tonight was different. Jim had not left his office in two days, apart from very brief visits to the bathroom. He hadn’t eaten, hadn’t slept, hadn’t spoken to Sebastian in all of that time. When he still didn’t come to bed, Sebastian slipped out from under the sheets and padded through the flat, knocking lightly on the door of the office.

“Stay out!” Jim yelled at him from the other side, sounding very much like a child who didn’t want their parent to enter their bedroom.

Sebastian closed his eyes and changed effortlessly into his other form. It was often easier to win Jim over when he was like this. He crept inside, crossing the room to stand by Jim’s chair, nuzzling affectionately against Jim’s thigh.

“I told you to stay out,” Jim said with gritted teeth. He never used the same tone with the tiger as he did with the human. He was always softer, more gentle and kindly with the animal. But not now.

Sebastian persisted, a soft growl sounding in the back of his throat, as close to a purr as he could get. Jim ignored him.

“Sebastian, if you don’t get out now, I’m going to _fucking make you get out, do you understand?!_ ” He completely snapped halfway through his sentence, yelling at the top of his voice.

The sound made Sebastian flinch. Jim would pat his head and tell him he was sorry, that he didn’t mean it, that he was coming to join him in bed in just a minute.

But he didn’t.

“Leave, you fucking _animal_.” With that, Jim aimed a kick at the side of Sebastian’s head, the end of his shoe making contact that drew an agonized growl from Sebastian.

Deadly silence hung in the air. Sebastian raised his head.

Jim’s eyes were manic. Not human.

Sebastian left the room

 

 

\--

 

 

The next morning, Sebastian found himself on the living room floor. The flat was unusually quiet. He couldn’t hear the sound of Jim typing on his laptop. Perhaps he was sleeping. Sebastian got to his feet and walked through to the bedroom. Empty. The bed had been neatly made, the curtains opened.

There was a red envelope on the bed. His name written on the front.

 

 

_Tiger,_

_I am not one for needless sentiment. I’m sure you realize this by now. This is not intended to be a heartfelt, farewell letter._

_You know about the game. About Sherlock Holmes._

 

 

He’d heard about almost nothing but the game for the last year or so. Jim had become obsessed, had gotten himself arrested for it, for fuck’s sake. Sebastian remembered that morning vividly, remembered placing the London cap on his head backwards just to tease him, remembered Jim standing on the tips of his toes to kiss him, telling him not to have too much fun without him, remembered receiving pictures from him; a sign to the Crown Jewels, a guard in one of those ridiculous costumes, even one of Jim himself, captioned ‘Having a gr8 time!’

He smiled as he thought of it.

 

_I’ve decided to go ahead with my plans. Sherlock will fall._

_I believe there is a chance I won’t be returning today._

_So, if that is the case, then I wish you happiness. Move on. Forget about me. That is an order, not a request._

_Farewell, tiger_

_Yours, Jim Moriarty_

 

\--

 

 

Six months without him.

Sebastian had another bottle of whiskey in his hand. He’d lost count of what number this one was. All he knew was that he was on the edge. On the edge of life. Alive, but not quite living somehow. Jim would have laughed at him, if he were alive. He’d say, _‘Stop being so sentimental, tiger’_ or ‘ _Pull yourself together, Moran, the world isn’t ending.’_

For Sebastian, it already had.

Everything just felt... meaningless now.

Pain had returned to the transformations. Agonizing pain.

The flat was a mess. Jim would have killed him.

If he was there.

He wasn’t.

 

 

\--

 

 

A little over a year since he’d died. On the anniversary of the fateful day, Sebastian raised a toast to Jim Moriarty; his boss, his lover, his master. Forever and always.

That’s what he’d had tattooed across his hip. Jim’s initials (which had already been scarred several times on his body) and _Forever and Always_. It was stupidly sentimental. Sebastian knew Jim would hate it. But he was never going to see it.

 

 

Sebastian was out late on the streets of London. Night had fallen and the clubs and pubs came to life. He was in some run-down bar in a dodgy area of the city, nursing a pint. He’d flirted with a guy who had come to sit beside him, probably about half his age. Still had spots on his forehead. He was practically begging Sebastian to have him the alleyway behind the bar. But Sebastian didn’t. He’d simply scrawled a fake number onto the boy’s hand and left.

The air was biting, a cold, harsh wind that swept the now rather disserted streets of London. He pulled his leather jacket tighter around him, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, before beginning the long walk home. He didn’t take cabs anymore. Walking was better. Gave him time to think.

 Footsteps. Behind him. Approaching quickly. He turned, hands already curled up into fists, ready for whatever the fucker wanted.

The man’s face was masked. Before he could make any effort to fight him, somebody else grabbed his neck from behind, hand over his mouth. He struggled against them, but they were just as strong as he was, and there seemed to be at least three of them now.

They dragged him through to a darkened alley and shoved him hard up against the wall. Sebastian snarled at them.

“What the fuck do you want?”

“Sebastian Moran?”

He spat at the feet of the man who had spoken.

“If you’re not going to play along, Moran, we’ll have to –“

“Do whatever you fucking want!”

 

He was still fighting them when a needle sunk into his skin.

 

_The world went black._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update has been a while coming, I've not had much motivation to do anything. But I sat down and forced myself to write and there you have it. Thank you so much to everybody who leaves kudos and comments, it means an awful lot to me


	10. Experimentation

\--- 6 months later ----

 

 

When Sebastian awoke, he found himself lying on the cold stone floor of his cell. _Home sweet home_ , was his first thought, smirking to himself as he glanced around the tiny room with its dripping wet walls and cobwebs. It was here that he’d been held for the last few months, usually chained to the wall, for the safety of his captors. Oh, that brought back fond childhood memories.

He looked towards the door and saw that a plate had been left there for him. For all he knew, it could have been there for the past five days, he had no idea. But, it didn’t particularly matter to him and he ate it up in the blink of an eye. There was definitely something off about it. However, food poisoning was one of the things he was least concerned about now.

The meal had come with a knife and fork. Now for his favourite bit of dinner time. He took the knife and shifted over to one of the walls, finding a bare patch and beginning to carve into it.

‘ _Jim Moriarty_ ’ he spelt out in wonky capital letters. Yet another two words to add to the ever growing collection of them all over the cell.

_Jim Moriarty, Jim Moriarty, Jim Moriarty_

Sebastian smiled gleefully, then discarded the knife on the floor.

He began to hum. It was the tune of a song Jim used to sing when he was in a particularly dark and dangerous mood. Then he started to sing, his voice just a little louder than a murmur.

 

_Incy wincy spider climbed up the water spout_

 

It was slower than usual, much deeper.

 

_Down came the rain and washed the spider out_

 

Sebastian heard footsteps outside the door.

 

_Out came the sunshine and dried up all the rain._

 

The sound of keys fitting into a lock.

 

_And incy wincy spider climbed up the spout again_

 

At the same time that the door opened, Sebastian burst out into manic laughter. He grinned up at the guard, his eyes wide and insane.

“I do love nursery rhymes, don’t you?”

The guard was expressionless as he fiddled with Sebastian’s chains. It was always the worst duty, having to escort Sebastian between rooms.

“I’m taking you to the testing chamber,” the man explained, tone dull and flat.

“Excellent,” Sebastian replied, with a wide, toothy grin.

 

\--

 

The testing chamber was perhaps the most technical room in the facility. Well, the room itself wasn’t. It was simply an empty room, with a tinted window high up on one wall, so the people inside the connecting room could observe from a height. But, from up there, they could do anything; they had a hundred buttons and switches for controlling things within the chamber, from the light to the temperature to the amount of oxygen.

The first guard, as well as two others, brought Sebastian from his cell to the chamber, then chained him up again and locked him inside. It only took a minute for Sebastian’s eyes to adjust to the harsh, bright white of the place. Then he began to wonder what they’d be doing to him today. Perhaps they’d gas him again. That was always a lot of fun.

“Good day, gentlemen!” he called out into thin air, knowing that they were listening. “Now, I hear you have requested my company today, so what is it you would like me to do, hmm?”

He glanced around, up at the window. They could see him, but he couldn’t seem them. Sebastian didn’t need to.

“We’re going to run some more tests on your animal form today,” came a voice from the loudspeaker on the wall, but before they could continue speaking, Sebastian let out a laugh.

“Oh, so you’re going to very kindly and politely ask me to change into my other form, are you?”

There was a sudden beam of light fixed on him and he laughed harder.

“Thought not!”

It was an instant changer beam they’d developed - for their own convenience, of course. A rather remarkable piece of technology, Sebastian had to admit, which could switch him to and back from his other form with the press of a button. It worked fast, but the transition was still agonizingly painful.

As soon as it had worked, Sebastian released a loud growl that bounced off the walls and almost seemed to vibrate beneath his paws. He pounced forward, getting as close to the opposite wall as he could before his chain stopped him, the collar digging into his neck. He had a thick band of black there now, due to the number of scars. In fact, there were cuts and marks all over his body, so his stripes were a mess now, the fur more black than orange. It was one of the things about Sebastian that so fascinated these scientists. If one could call them that.

Sebastian heard a _sssssh_ noise, and knew that that was the gas coming. What would it do today? They had all sorts of gases; deadly ones that left him clinging onto life (though they’d never let him die. No, no, he was too precious for that), experimental ones, classic knock-you-out-so-we-can-experiment-on-you ones. He sniffed for it, and it was something he didn’t recognize. However, he soon discovered the effects of it. Gradually, he began to become drowsy, but not enough to black out. He went down on his side, looking up at the ceiling. He wished it would knock him out. The darkness was better than this.

Rain fell on his head. No, not rain, they were indoors. It was just water from sprinklers above. The scientists had never used them before, so perhaps they were newly installed. The water started out warm, then became icy cold. Sebastian didn’t react, barely a twitch of his tail.

Next came what felt like acid. He felt it, but didn’t care, not even when it came through his fur and onto his skin, the pain hot and searing.

“It’s not reacting to it...” somebody mumbled, obviously not intending for the microphone to pick up his words. They always referred to Sebastian as ‘it’, sometimes even when he wasn’t in his animal form.

Now they were playing a high pitched screeching noise, which tore through his ears, the sound pounding in his head. But, still no reaction. Sebastian had no idea whether this was because of whatever they’d drugged him with, or simply because he was so used to pain that he hardly felt it anymore. Maybe it was due to both.

More mumbled words down the other end of the microphone. Then Sebastian heard somebody clear their throat and begin to list off words. Words that were supposed to trigger him off.

“Augustus Moran.”

His father. No reaction.

“Highfield Manor.”

His childhood home. No reaction.

“Jim Moriarty.”

His lover, his boss, his master. The name he repeated every day in his head like a chant, the name he had scratched both into his walls and into his skin, the name he both adored and feared.

No reaction.

The person was beginning to speak when suddenly they stopped, their last few syllables muffled. Sebastian could hear somebody crack and thud.

Then music.

 

_Rising up, back on the street  
_

_Did my time, took my chances_

 

Sebastian finally lifted his head. What the hell was this? He knew the song. Jim used to play it over and over to annoy him, and it had always worked.

 

_It’s the eye of the tiger_   
  
_It’s the thrill of the fight_

 

A bright flash of light. The changer beam, putting him back into his usual form.

“What the fuck is going on?” he mumbled, still dizzy from the drug and the transition.

Something fell onto the tip of his nose and he reached his hand up there to inspect it. It looked like chalky white dust. Looking up, he saw that a crack in the ceiling was beginning to form, getting bigger by the second.

 

_Stalks his prey in the night_   
  
_And he’s watching us all with the eye of the tiger_

 

The song began to gradually fade out, _the eye of the tiger_ lyric repeating a few times.

 

_The eye of the tiger_   
  
_The eye of the tiger_   
  
_The eye of the tiger_

 

The whole ceiling collapsed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has been a while coming. As usual, thank you so much for all the kudos and comments! They mean so much to me. And I edited this quite late while I was very tired so do tell me if you spot any mistakes!


	11. Master

“Sebastian.”

He was gradually coming back to his senses. Where was he? Lying on a bed... somewhere he didn’t recognize...

“Sebastian.”

The same voice. He knew that voice.

“Wake up, tiger.”

Tiger. His nickname. The nickname Jim had given him.

Jim.

Jim was here.

Everything came into focus sharply. Brown eyes. Jim’s.

“You’re alive, Sebastian.”

How could Jim be here if he was alive? Jim was dead. 

But then he felt a hand on his cheek. It was too real, too warm and solid. 

He really was alive.

And so was Jim.

Anger boiled inside of him. Jim had left him to rot and all the time he’d been alive. 

He tried to speak but a finger was pressed against his lips. 

“Don’t say anything.”

Jim’s voice sounded too quiet, as if somebody had a remote and had turned down his volume. It didn’t make sense. 

“Not sure how it happened exactly, but you’ve lost the hearing in your left ear,” Jim explained before Sebastian could even ask. 

Well, at least his vision hadn’t been affected. He wouldn’t be able to shoot if he was blind. But it was still an annoying inconvenience. 

“Why didn’t you come and rescue me earlier? Why didn’t you tell you me you weren’t fucking dead?!” He shouted the last few words, trying to sit up, or even get out of bed, but Jim pushed him back down.

“Hush, my love,” he silenced him. “I have my reasons. I couldn’t have gotten you out any earlier.”

“Why not?”

“I had business to attend to.”

“Business?”

“Clients. Sherlock Holmes has been steadily destroying my network and I’ve been going along trying to fix it again. Hard work, but-“

“You bastard!” Sebastian cut him off. Then, with all the strength he had in his body, struggled out of bed and shifted forms. His growl came out more as a high pitched screech as he toppled Jim over, pinning him to the ground. 

“Tiger, calm down,” Jim said soothingly, in a tone that would normally stop the tiger in his tracks. However, this time, it only made him angrier. 

He raised his paw.

“Sebastian, stop.”

Then Sebastian did something he’d never done before.

Claws slashed across Jim’s chest, ripping through his shirt and then his skin. Blood began to pour over Sebastian’s paw.

Jim’s blood.

His master – ex-master, current master, Sebastian had no idea anymore – cried out and went limp.

Sebastian stopped and moved to his side, nuzzling at his cheek. _Master, master, master_ ; that was all he could hear in his head.

_Master, I’m sorry._

_Please, I didn’t mean to hurt you._

_Wake up._

Eventually, he fell asleep by Jim’s side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so short! Hope you enjoyed it anyway.


End file.
